


that storm will break

by DrowningInStarlight



Category: Campaign (Podcast)
Genre: Early in Canon, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Team as Family, some nebulous time post-civility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:28:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23899012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningInStarlight/pseuds/DrowningInStarlight
Summary: Three times the rest of the Uhuru crew took care of Gable.
Relationships: Gable & Dref Wormwood, Gable & Jonnit Kessler, Gable & Travis Matagot
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	that storm will break

**Author's Note:**

> my working title for this was "idk i just love gable" and i still stand by that 
> 
> actual title from welly boots by the amazing devil.

1.

It feels, for a moment, like the maelstrom will never pass— but it does, and then it’s time for the crew to pick up the pieces. It passes and leaves Gable still lashed to the wheel. That bit’s easy. Steering is mindless, and steering in a maelstrom makes you accept your fate. But the moment the danger passes, and you have to slip back into everyday life? That’s _hard._

Luckily, the Uhuru bounces from danger to danger, and even as the crew fall back into the regular push and pull of keeping the Uhuru aloft, supplies begin to dwindle. It all starts to feel like a dance, a little, as they almost imperceptibly slide back into crisis mode. It’s only once they’ve resupplied that Gable begins to… drift. 

They won’t leave. Not after the maelstrom. Gable knows damn well that the Uhuru wouldn’t have made it out of that without their steady hands on the wheel, and while the concept of _home_ is riddled with pain and missing memories, this ship is the closest thing they have. So they won’t leave, but they let Spit convince them to let him take the wheel, and then they stumble below deck. 

It’s late afternoon, so it’s quiet and dim down in the winding passages of the Uhuru. They could go to their cabin, they could go to the crew’s hammocks, they could go to the captain’s cabin— they’re sure Dref would let them hang around for a while without too much comment. But he’d wonder. Anyone who sees them right now would wonder. 

So instead, they follow the passages down, down, down, to the tiny little space right at the bottom of the Uhuru. Travis had found it, way back when they were both new to the ship. Gable doesn’t think anyone else goes there— why would they bother? But it’s small, and safe, and warm. So unlike the raging storm that’s forever on the edge of boiling in Gable’s blood.

They don’t mean to fall asleep, but they sit back against the curved wall and close their eyes, just for a moment. It’s all it takes. 

—

When Gable wakes, there’s something warm draped over their shoulders and something heavy lying on their legs. There isn’t really room to move down here, not for someone as tall as they are, but they still tense, shock tearing away their sleepiness. 

Then— “Stop wriggling,” Travis’ voice says sleepily, and Gable exhales. _Of course._

“What are you doing here?” they ask. It’s too dark to see anything, so they don’t bother trying, and just tip their head back and stare up at where they know the low ceiling lies. 

“Hey, this is _my_ hidey hole. What are _you_ doing here?” Travis accuses. 

Gable doesn’t answer. “What time is it?” 

“How would I know? Night. Obviously.” 

“You changed? I didn’t—” 

“You didn’t wake up, no. I don’t know what your whole angel deal is, but you must have been really out of it.” 

“You can’t keep telling me how terrible I look now,” Gable says vaguely. “You can’t see me.” 

“No. Because I’ve got my eyes shut. Because it’s night time.” he pauses. For a moment, everything is warm timber and swirling darkness, and Gable wonders if this is what being dead feels like, if this is why Dref is so fascinated by it— then Travis speaks again, and as is his wont, breaks the spell. “I can imagine, though.” 

Gable raises their eyebrows at the ceiling and pointedly changes the topic. “Why are you sleeping on my legs?” 

“Have I mentioned the fact that this is my hidey hole? And it’s not like there’s much ground left that isn’t your legs.” 

“Hmm. That’s true, I suppose.” They idly raise their hand to pet Travis’s head. 

“Don’t do that,” Travis says dryly, and they lower their hand, not really repentant. For them, it’s _far_ too late for repentance. 

“Sorry. Human instinct,” they say loftily.

“We’re not human.” 

“It’s amazing what you can pick up. And what happened to having your eyes shut?” 

“Go back to sleep, Gable.” 

“Mm?”

Travis sighs, shifting his position across Gable’s knees. “Go to sleep. You look like death, sleeping will make you, well, not look like death anymore.” 

“You sure about that?” Gable asks, with a wry smile. 

“Anything’s got to be worth a try at this point.” 

“You’re a real charmer, Travis.” 

“So I am told. Now, shush. I’m tired.” 

Gable turns and settles more comfortably on their side, and as they do, they catch the heavy material that’s been draped over their shoulders. It’s soft, and… familiar. 

“Travis, is this your coat?” they ask. 

Predictably, they don’t get a response, beyond pointed coyote snores. That’s fine. Gable closes their eyes. 

When they awake, Travis’ coat is gone, and they’re alone. 

2\. 

Pain is so very tiring. Gable had thought they were hiding it well, until Dref had emerged from the sick bay, taken one good look at them, and said “Gable, you need to co— you need to come with me.” 

They hadn’t had the energy to resist. 

—

Gable is sitting on the bench tucked away in the corner of the sickbay, pulling their top back on, when Dref speaks. 

“You know, I’m not doing this out of cu— curiosity.” 

Gable turns half an eye on him, still attempting to get their shirt back on with minimal disturbance to the wounds on their back. It smarts. Dref had tried everything, but nothing had lessened the same old ache. His fingertips had been soft and cool on their burning skin, though, and he’d given them a fresh dressing for it, the only thing he could seem to do to help. At least not without travelling down roads Gable is not willing to take. “No?” 

“No. Well. Yes, I have a certain… interest, because of who you are. But also— I am still your doctor. I wish there was something I could do to ease your— your pain.” He’s standing stiffly, with his hands clasped behind his back, and he looks so earnest something inside Gable hurts. 

“There isn’t,” they say gently, brushing themself off and getting to their feet. “But I do appreciate your efforts.” Gods, but Dref is walking a knife’s edge path, and everything in Gable aches to reach out and pull him to safety, but that isn’t how this works. He chose this. He chooses this, over and over, but… he also chose the Uhuru. Would it be enough to save him? Gable doesn’t know. 

“Let me know,” Dref says. “If there is anything I can do.” 

“I will. Thank you.” 

“Thank _you.”_

3\. 

“— but, Gable—” 

“No, and that’s final,” Gable says. The galley is bustling with people eating their midday meal, and Gable had claimed the only peaceful corner. Jonnit had appeared shortly afterwards, hopping up on the table next to them. He swings his legs as he talks. He’s a child of motion, is Jonnit Kessler, always moving, energy dancing electric around him.

“But, _Gable,”_ Jonnit repeats, and he doesn’t tug on their coat sleeve, but he looks for a moment like he very much wants to. “We’ve been stuck on the ship so _long,_ and you’ve been off by yourself and Travis says you’re brooding again, and it’d be good for the birds to get some exercise, you know how they get…” 

Gable looks up from their meal. Jonnit smiles widely. “Is this about me, you, or the birds?” they ask. 

“Like, a mixture of all three,” Jonnit says. There’s a beat, and Jonnit’s smile falls. “I’m worried about you, Gable.” 

“You don’t need to be,” Gable says. “I’m good at looking after myself.” 

“That’s not what Travis said,” Jonnit tells them. 

“What, exactly, _did_ Travis say?” 

“Well, he said a lot of things, most of them about himself, but I think he’s worried about you too and that’s why I came to—” 

“Hassle me at a meal time?” 

_“Yes,_ because— well, no, I wouldn’t call it— I didn’t mean—”

Gable sighs in soft amusement. “It’s fine, I’m joking, I’m joking.” 

“Oh.” He shoots them a sidelong look. “You spend too much time with Travis.” 

“Says the boy who was put up to this by the very man!” 

“He didn’t put me up to anything. I came because I care about you and you look all kind of sad all over the place at the moment.” He’s earnest, too, almost as earnest as Dref, and oh, what has Gable got themselves into? People are so terrifyingly, terrifyingly easy to break. 

But Jonnit looks pleadingly up at them. 

“I— Hm. Okay.” 

“Is that... a yes?” 

Gable looks back down at their meal, weighs keeping their feet solidly on the deck, weighs the possibility of Jonnit just running off by himself if they don’t say yes, weighs the possibility of the sensation that’s as close to flying as they’ve ever found, and— 

“Yes. It is a yes.” 

Jonnit’s whoop is enough to make everyone look over, as he leaps off the table with glee. “Thanks, Gable!” 

“What’s that kid up to know?” Spit leans over to ask as Jonnit hurtles out of the room, and despite themself, Gable feels a smile spreading across their own face. 

“Why, Spit,” they say. “We’re going to go bird racing.” 

— 

Jonnit’s laughter fills the sky as Lucas wheels and soars, and Gable closes their eyes as they nudge Metatron into a dive and they know this life is so finely, delicately balanced, such a dance between land and sea and sky, but for a moment it all feels untouchable. 

(Who, after all, needs heaven when you have this?)

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr as drowninginstarlights :D


End file.
